


so we can learn to pick ourselves back up

by reyesrobbies



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Pokemon AU, Pokemon Journey, the pokemon au nobody asked for but here it is anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyesrobbies/pseuds/reyesrobbies
Summary: His father told him once, there were Phantump’s in the woods. Lost spirits, he’d whispered, that lived in the stumps of old trees, possessed by the spirits of children that had perished in the forest. Bruce had looked up at him in awe, and queried whether they’d come for him at night. His father smiled gently, and told him he had nothing to fear. “They only take the lost, Bruce.”He sits on a stump now, deep within the forest, his sneakers thick in mud. He hears the groans of the trees around him and waits. But no-one ever comes.Tears stream down his face as Bruce wonders how broken he must be, that even the spirits of the lost don’t want to claim him.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	so we can learn to pick ourselves back up

When Bruce is six years old, he falls down a well. He tumbles past creaking beams, splintering them in his descent and lands, scraping his hands and knees but somehow unharmed. He stands, wincing. The light speckles through the opening above, while the darkness coils around him. Bruce takes a step forward, pausing when he hears a flutter in the distance.

“He- Hello?” he stammers.

It happens in an instance. Zubats, thousands of them it seems, are upon him. Flapping their wings, their screams blending through the darkness with his own. Tiny claws nip at his face and he waves his arms to be free of them, but more appear, surrounding him and he can’t breathe there’s too many it hurts it hurt-

Then his father is there, a bright light in the sea of darkness and Bruce clings to him. His father carries him through the opening and into the daylight. Alfred fusses over him as they appear and his father holds him close. Later, after the tears have stopped and he is tucked into bed, his father sits at the side of his bed and tells him it’s okay to be scared, “Why do we fall, Bruce?” he queries and Bruce is still, holding the edge of the blanket as tightly as he can. His father leans forward and kisses his forehead. 

“So we can learn to pick ourselves up.”

\--

When Bruce is seven years old, his mother brings him a gift. He closes his eyes but squints them open, laughter bubbling out of his mouth as he questions her, and she smiles a dazzling smile and tells him not to peek. He obliges, holding out his hands as he hears her pull something out of her pocket. She places the object in his hands and his brows furrow at the touch, smooth and cold at the end of his fingertips. 

“You can open your eyes now, Bruce.”

Bruce opens his eyes. His smile becomes wider - a pokeball, his mother has given him a pokeball. He looks up at her, then back at the ball. 

“Is thi-” Bruce begins to whisper.

His mother leans forward, having perched herself on the edge of the table in front of him. She strokes his face gently, pushing hair out of his eyes and behind his ear. “Yours,” she smiles back at him. He gazes back in awe at the object in his hands and, trembling, reaches to push the button that will release the Pokemon inside it. A bright light emits from the ball and it opens, and out from the ball a Zorua appears, blinking slightly, padding his knees with its paws as it looks around its new surroundings. 

“Like Zorro,” his mother says.

“Just like Zorro!” he replies, lifting the tiny creature up into arms. His mother moves to sit next to him, and bends forward to plant a kiss on his head. The Zorua - or Zorro, as Bruce will name him later - yips in excitement, and clambers onto his lap again, licking Bruce while his mother laughs and explains that Zorua are tricksters, and like to copy other Pokemon, and sometimes even people, taking their form and their voice. Bruce laughs and Zorro barks back as his mother joins them in their mirth. 

\--

When Bruce is eight years old, his parents are murdered. He kneels next to them, his mother’s pearls dancing through the quiet street. The night curls around him and blood streaks through the raindrops, dripping into small puddles. It is quiet. A Lampent hangs above him, it’s light bright and burning, growing brighter as the light drains from his parents eyes. It circles silently above them.

And Bruce is numb.

\--

When Bruce is nine years old, he dreams of his parents. He feels their hands clasp around his, hears their voices in echoes and can almost smell the sweet pastries laid out on the picnic rug before them. He smiles, but doesn’t quite mean it. The garden is still, peaceful almost. The wind swirls around them, and Bruce closes his eyes. His parents hands clutch tighter, nails digging into palms, but instead of blood speckling from the grooves they leave behind, blackness pours from within. It wisps around him, forming smoke that billows around the three. Bruce opens his eyes. His parents vanish into the smoke, gold spools from within the darkness, the tendrils of light forming a mask. The mask covers the darkness and it takes shape. Two Yamask blink at Bruce, their eyes piercing through his own. They hold their masks in their whisps, wailing as they look upon their golden reflections. The laughter from before is gone, their cries echo in the garden, which is now shrouded in moonlight. The darkness creeps across Bruce once more, snaking up his arms and around his face. He gasps as it pulls at him, his own golden mask forming as the smoke consumes him, he scrabbles at his face, but he cannot lift the wisps that choke him, the earth opens up and he falls, mud scraping his finger tips, the cries of his parents linger in his ears, flutters of wings and pearls and smoke fro-

Bruce wakes up.

\--

When Bruce is ten years old, he walks to the woods that enclose the Manor. His parents had always warned him not to venture there, it wasn’t ‘safe’, they said, Pokemon from different regions had gathered within the woods, brought over by Wayne’s long since passed. Too dangerous to venture within, they’d said. He can’t find it in himself to care. 

His father’s Chansey had tried to stop him, small squeaks of fear as he clambered through his window onto the branches of the tree outside his window (Alfred might be sleeping, but he’d still know if Bruce tried the front door). Bruce brushes off her concern and tells her to leave him alone. She looks to the floor, gaze sad and bleats after him, watching as he reaches the bottom of the tree, and begins his walk to the woods.

His father told him once, there were Phantump’s in the woods. Lost spirits, he’d whispered, that lived in the stumps of old trees, possessed by the spirits of children that had perished in the forest. Bruce had looked up at him in awe, and queried whether they’d come for him at night. His father smiled gently, and told him he had nothing to fear. “They only take the lost, Bruce.”

He sits on a stump now, deep within the forest, his sneakers thick in mud. He hears the groans of the trees around him and waits. But no-one ever comes.

Tears stream down his face as Bruce wonders how broken he must be, that even the spirits of the lost don’t want to claim him. 

\--

When Bruce is fifteen, Tommy takes him on a trip. The two had been friends once, before Tommy’s mother had fallen sick and Alfred thought it a good idea that the two spend the summer together, hoping, in some way, that it might bring some small part of Bruce back. Tommy had demanded the two visit the Safari Zone in Johto, he’d heard that there were lots of Pokemon there that you just couldn’t find in Unova and had been adamant that Bruce come along. Bruce had been adamant that he wasn’t going along. He had Zorro (although he wasn’t as close with him as he’d used to be, he thought with a stab of guilt), he didn’t need any more Pokemon. Tommy had rolled his eyes and somehow managed to corral Alfred along into his mission. He thought Alfred would have his back, but the old man had merely handed him a large bag filled with clothes, money and snacks for the trip. 

“Traitor,” he muttered bitterly, slinging the bag onto his shoulders.

“Have fun, Master Bruce,” Alfred had said, then drawn him into an embrace.

Bruce held him tightly back, and promised that he would at least try. He told Alfred he’d try to bring him back some tea from Johto, and Alfred retorted that the tea in Kalos and Galar far surpassed Johto’s poor efforts. Bruce smirked, and told him not to give Tommy any ideas. 

The journey is long, but Bruce finds himself having fun. Tommy regales him with tales of the different regions, showing him a map of all the places he’s been and tells Bruce of a Cofagrigus that had corned him in the desert, trying to pull him into its coffin until Tommy had thought quick and had his pokemon burn the bandages that covered the Pokemon’s arms. Zorro sits on his lap, sleeping and Bruce strokes his fur, promising the small Pokemon that he was going to try harder from now on.

They reach the Safari Zone just before dusk and the Keeper lets them in just before they close, persuaded by the large pile of money Tommy had dropped on his desk with a grin. 

“You shouldn’t do that,” Bruce protests half heartedly as they roam the grass of the savannah.

“Why not,” Tommy retorts back, basking in the night’s glow. Tommy grins at him and Bruce grins back, he can’t think of a reply and Tommy’s excitement draws him in more than Bruce would like to admit. A rustle in the bushes catches their attention, and Tommy, already having caught several different beasts ushers him forward. “Your turn,” he smirks. 

Bruce falters, he’s never actually caught a Pokemon before. He turns to Tommy and raises his arms, cluelessly, and Tommy sighs dramatically. “It’s not that hard, Bruce! Just throw the thing!”

Bruce takes his advice literally, and throws the ball into the bushes just as Tommy shouts “at least look at what you’re capturing first you idio-”. The ball hits its target and falls to the ground. The ball lights up, signifying the capture and Bruce picks up the ball, holding it in the air to show Tommy.

Tommy holds his head in his hand and groans. “Tomorrow,” he promises, as the Keeper ushers them out, “we’re going to do this properly.”

Bruce keeps the ball in his pocket throughout their rushed supper, and feels a warmth spread through him as the two eat, laughing at the escapades of the day and at Tommy, who’s ears burn red after Bruce teases him about falling in the lake when he’d confused a piece of weed for a Tangela. The two retreat for bed not long after, and Tommy falls asleep immediately, Bruce smiles in his direction, before releasing Zorro from his pokeball. The pokemon nudges him with his nose to say hello, then paws at the ball Bruce has removed from his pocket. Bruce holds the ball in front of his eyes, then throws the ball into the air. He still doesn’t know what the Pokemon he’s caught is, and he’s anxious to see. 

A light emits from the ball, and a Cubone emerges. The room is silent. The skull on Cubone's head is basked in the moonlight, and it looks at Bruce with woeful eyes. It opens its mouth, and a mournful melody fills the room. Tommy rustles in his sleep, but does not awaken. The room is filled with the Cubone’s cries and Bruce closes his eyes tightly. He can hear his mother, her laughter and the touch of her lips pressed against his head. He hears her screams, her begging, the cry of his father’s name and the sound of the shot that cut through her cries. Beside him, Zorro’s form begins to shift, bound by the haunting music, Bruce sees his mother. 

He returns the Cubone to the Pokeball. The room is quiet again. The spell is broken. Zorro whimpers, nuzzling up to Bruce. Bruce stands. He leaves the Pokeball on the desk next to his bed and returns Zorro to his ball. Bruce picks up his bag.

He’s done here.

\--

When Bruce is twenty one, he finds himself lost in more ways than one. He finds himself roaming regions that have no place on any map, wandering through marketplaces that sell fruits and spices he’s never even heard of. The tea from the stalls is bitter and he can hear Alfred’s distaste as he sips. He pushes onward. He sees Drifloon’s as he passes through the towns and has to suppress the childish urge to hold onto them, Shuppet’s swirl around him and Bruce finds himself cast out of villages, doors slammed in his face. An elderly woman takes pity on him and allows him shelter for the night. The Shuppet’s linger at her door and she speaks to him in a language he only understands small parts of. Her voice is rasped, and she speaks in broken English, “they feed on you,” she speaks, as the embers of the fire cast shadows around the room, “vengeance and anger, inside you, they swallow it whole.”

He leaves the village in the morning, and keeps pace ahead of the ghosts that trail behind him. He finds himself in slums, fighting with his fists rather than calling upon Zorro. He leaves broken jaws and bruises behind him. Something burns within him, but he doesn’t know how to answer it. He climbs a mountain, collapsing when he reaches the top, and screams into the wind, not expecting an answer.

He receives one, in the name of Ra’s Al Ghul

\--

When Bruce is twenty two, he feels content. Zorro sleeps next to him, curled up with Talia’s Purrloin, while Bruce rests his head upon Talia’s shoulder, breathing in her perfume. The room is light and airy, birds chirp on branches above while others meander through the room, incense burns, leaving a smoke that slinks through his senses. Talia smiles, looking down at him and jokes that Athanasia, his Eevee, will evolve into a Sylveon at this rate, or rather he will, if he grips her any tighter. Bruce nuzzles closer to her and retorts that he doesn’t care, let the world see how much he loves her. Her hair sweeps his face and she leans in for a kiss, outside the room, a servant calls for him, training has begun. Bruce kisses her back, deeply, then begins to rise. Talia stops him, holding his arm gently. 

“Stay, beloved,” she pulls him back down to the bed, her fingertips brushing his arm gently.

“I can’t,” Bruce moves to grab his shirt off the floor, “your father expects me.” 

Talia purses her lips at this, pulling the bedclothes tighter around her. Her Purrloin hisses at the sudden movement, and flees from the bed, taking refuge under the leaves of a large potted plant instead. 

“Beloved,” she begins, “forego your control, forego your discipline..”

Talia takes his hand and presses it against her stomach. Bruce can’t find the words to speak. Talia removes her hand, but he leaves his own pressed against her stomach. He opens his mouth, only to close it again. Talia nods, answering his silent question, then looks to him anxiously.

“...Beloved?”

Bruce stands, he paces to the window, then walks back to the bed. Talia meets his gaze. Bruce laughs, lifting her from the bed, he takes her in his arms and kisses her, passionately and deeply. Talia shouts, before holding him around the neck and returning his kiss. Bruce spins her around, and she giggles, “Our child shall be the new Alexander, Beloved.” He spins them both onto the bed, and Zorro grunts, moving out of their way, quickly. Bruce bursts with laughter, and ruffles his fur in apology. Talia lies next to him, breathless and hair wild. Bruce is giddy, pressing kisses to her neck, her arms, her head. 

Bruce has never been happier

\--

When Bruce is twenty three, he finds himself in Gotham. _Beloved, I have lost the baby._ He made a stop in Galar first, before catching the flight back to Unova. The air in Gotham is thick, and he takes a deep breath in. He’d ran out of money on the way back, down to his last few dollars. He ignores the taxi’s on his way out of the airport, and instead settles himself into the seat of a bus. The seats are worn beneath his fingertips and he’s fairly certain he’s sat on three different pieces of chewing gum. The ride is slow, the closer they get to the heart of Gotham, the more concerned Bruce finds himself. The city is nothing like he remembers it, the streets are filled with dirt and garbage, Trubbish ambling through the mess and the people he spies from the window look sullen and worn. Bruce exits the bus as it passes through the Narrows (the bus driver queries if he’s sure he wants to stop there, then shakes his head when Bruce firmly replies yes). He can see Wayne Tower from where he stands, but the large ‘W’ in the sky seems foreboding, and nothing like he remembers as a child. It towers over the skyline, but nobody seems to look up, instead with their faces down to the floor, avoiding each other as they walk by. Something stirs inside Bruce. He hands his last five dollars to a man sat on the steps of a church, gloves frayed and torn. The man mutters a simple blessing and Bruce nods in return. He’d been planning to take the bus straight to the manor, but he could walk the rest of the way. There were things he needed to see.

Bruce knocks on the door of Wayne Manor three hours later, smelling of sweat and covered in filth. Alfred opens the door and promptly drops the silverware he had been polishing. “Master Bruce,” he starts, before he is pulled into an embrace by Bruce. Alfred clutches him back, tightly, and Bruce feels his eyes beginning to well. He pulls back, and digs around in his pockets, letting Alfred compose himself. From the bottom of his coat, he pulls out a crumpled package. He hands it to Alfred, who looks inside, curious.

“Tea,” he smirks, “from Galar, sorry it’s late.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lampent: It lurks in cities, pretending to be a lamp. Once it finds someone whose death is near, it will trail quietly after them.
> 
> Yamask: The spirit of a person from a bygone age became this Pokémon. It rambles through ruins, searching for someone who knows its face. They look upon their mask and cry.
> 
> Drifloon: It is whispered that any child who mistakes Drifloon for a balloon and holds on to it could wind up missing. Old folktales call them a "Signpost for Wandering Spirits."
> 
> Shuppet: Shuppet grows by feeding on dark emotions, such as vengefulness and envy, in the hearts of people. It roams   
> through cities in search of grudges that taint people.
> 
> The pokemon au nobody wanted but here it is~~


End file.
